Just Fine
by GillyweedTabbyCat
Summary: Instead of storming out on her, Harry takes Minerva up on her offer in Half Blood Prince.


"Professor, could I have a word?"

She had not expected a student to be in her quarters this late at night. Moreover, the Gryffindor Head of House certainly had not expected Harry Potter to be standing in her doorway, clad in only a t-shirt and sweatpants. In fact, she herself was not entirely decent. Finally conscious that her sixth year student was seeing her in nothing more than her night dress, Minerva pulled her cloak shut.

From her spot on the couch, Minerva looked at the clock on her wall and gave him an incredulous look. "A word…at two o' clock in the morning?" She asked, clearly in disbelief. "I must ask that you come back at a decent—"

A flash of disappointment flickered in his eyes and her shoulders heaved. Dammit, why did he have to make her job so hard? It was clear that he was upset, distraught, even. She was glad that he had reconsidered her earlier offer, but upset that he had chosen this time to take her up on it. With a flick of her wand, Minerva shut the door and motioned for him to step inside.

"This is not appropriate, Potter," She chided, pushing the third years' final exams to the side.

"This is important, Professor," Harry cut in quietly. "It couldn't wait until morning." His eyes silently pleaded for her to be lenient. How could she say no? It was not every day that this closed-off, stoic boy just chose to openly initiate a conversation with his professor.

The gravity in his eyes spoke volumes. Clearly this was about the events of last night. If she were being completely honest, Minerva did not know what to feel. She wanted to feel numb. But Harry—oh the poor boy had everything taken away from right underneath his nose. Lily, James, Sirius and now Dumbledore.

The boy just could not catch a break and Minerva felt for him. _God only knows how he's made it so long without parents, _she thought to herself.

"Very well then," Minerva agreed, some unevenness still in her voice. "Have you eaten, Potter?"

He hunched over the coffee table and shook his head, a few stray strands of hair falling in his face. My goodness, how he resembled his father!

"No," Harry said flatly.

She expected that. It could not be easy to face all those students in the Great Hall. They would undoubtedly have a million and two questions for the young man, who had seen far too much to still be considered a boy.

"Have you slept?"

"No."

Why did that not surprise her? She sighed heavily and examined his face. There were creases in his forehead, from where he had spent hours thinking and blaming himself. His eyes were bloodshot, from lack of sleep or crying, Minerva did not know.

"I'm going to need more than a one word answer on this one, Potter. You said you required a word with me. Why did you come here?" Minerva asked, wincing at the sharpness in her voice that she had not intended.

Harry paused a moment, looked out of her window and sighed. "I don't know. I thought maybe you could help me understand," The sixteen year old admitted, turning a very deep shade of red. "Coming here was a mistake—I'm sorry— Ron and Hermione—" He stuttered and shot up from the couch.

"Potter."

Harry refused to meet her eyes. "I didn't mean to waste your time, Professor." He started toward the door.

"Harry Potter, you come back here now," Minerva barked and then clapped a hand over her mouth when he jumped. She had not meant to startle him that way.

He looked taken aback by her outburst, but slowly made his way over to the couch again. Once he had sat down, Minerva relaxed again and leaned into the couch. "I did not mean to frighten you. Potter, I'm concerned, is all," Minerva explained, more softly this time.

"Concerned?" Harry repeated, obviously hesitant. "_You're _concerned?"

"Yes." Minerva confirmed, nodding her head. "It's not a completely laughable idea, you know. I _am_ your Head of House and I know how close you were to the Headmaster."

Finally, McGonagall had touched on the subject that she knew Potter had come here to discuss. Now it was up in the air, out in the open and up for grabs.

"People die every day," Harry stated plainly, holding his head in his palm. "I know that better than anybody. I should be used to it by now." Limply, his head hung over his lap. "It's only a matter of time before it's Ron or Hermione or Mrs. Weasley—"

She scooted over on the couch and looped a loose arm around his shoulders. He was stiff at first, gaping at her wide-eyed, completely baffled at the idea that his Transfiguration professor was capable of empathy.

"We were terribly mistaken about Severus," Minerva said lowly, not wanting to dwell on her colleague turned Death Eater. "And that's on the Order, Potter, not you. Albus' death should not be on your conscience. You are not to blame."

His back was ramrod straight as he clutched the edge of the sofa, trying to keep his composure. Even from where she sat, she saw a few tears sacrifice themselves to his pyjama pants. She was almost glad to see him cry, to see him respond like someone his age should.

So much was expected of him at such a young age. Saviour, all of Wizarding Britain called him. Chosen One, they had dubbed him. Minerva doubted that any grown wizard could have shouldered the burden he had this year and kept it together like he did. But he would never let on that it was too much for him.

She was shocked when the young man, who looked so much like his parents, leaned into her. Minerva welcomed it and rubbed his shoulder gently, careful to give him room to back away. If this was awkward for him, it was completely foreign for her.

Eventually, Minerva felt his arm grip tightly around her robes. His body shook and warm tears begun to soak through her night cloak. She nearly jumped out of her skin when his head dropped against her shoulder and she tensed. Never had a student come to her like this. She would have never allowed it.

"Potter, I meant what I said. You meant a great deal to Dumbledore," Minerva whispered, rubbing a small circle on his back.

He sniffled and pulled away, looking sheepishly at her. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, Professor. Guess you think I really don't belong in Gryffindor now, huh?"

"Nonsense!" Minerva yelped, cutting him a swift glare. "Potter, you've had a burden thrown upon your shoulders that most adult wizards would be hard pressed to carry. If there's anywhere you belong, it's Gryffindor."

He nodded, slightly embarrassed by her remark. "I'm no hero."

_He's so modest, _she thought. "Personally, I've never had much time for heroes," She said meaningfully. Minerva remembered her mentor saying it all too well that night Voldemort had returned.

A small smile played at the corners of his mouth and he chuckled lightly. "Yeah, that was an awful night, wasn't it?" Harry recalled, staring at her blankly.

She mumbled a positive response and checked the clock again. Merlin, it was nearing three in the morning. "Would you like some tea or biscuits, Potter?" Minerva offered hopefully. The boy had to ingest something or he would pass out in the morning.

"Tea would be nice, I suppose."

She quietly excused herself and disappeared into the kitchen. As she gathered the mugs and the kettle, Minerva shut her eyes tightly. If Albus' death had saddened her, imagine what it must have done to Potter. He had watched helplessly as his Headmaster was thrown off of the Astronomy Tower by a curse from a trusted member of the Order.

Minerva shuddered to think what that must have been like.

With the tray in her hands, she walked back into the sitting area and produced one of her rare smiles. She had not been gone two minutes. Harry Potter, mouth open and all, was fast asleep on her couch. This was not appropriate at all. But Snape was a traitor, Albus was dead and their fate now lie in the hands of a sixteen year old.

All the rules were broken now.

She set the tray down on the table and reached on top of the couch, grasping the scarlet and gold blanket quickly. Gently, so as not to wake him, Minerva rested the blanket on top of her student and carefully lifting his head, she placed a pillow underneath it.

Part of being a Head of House was being a parent figure and the maternal side of her did not have the heart to wake the boy. The Professor side of her screamed "Wake the child up and send him on his way!"

But she pushed that thought away and settled underneath the covers of her own duvet. And when she woke in the morning, Minerva would find the tea gone and the biscuits half-eaten.

He would be just fine.


End file.
